<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>sweet as plums by bluejayblueskies</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/30040287">sweet as plums</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/bluejayblueskies/pseuds/bluejayblueskies'>bluejayblueskies</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>TMA Fantasy Week [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Magnus Archives (Podcast)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Fantasy, M/M, Nymphs &amp; Dryads, TMA Fantasy Week (The Magnus Archives), They/Them Pronouns for Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Wood Nymph Jon, copious amounts of nature metaphors, food as a love language</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-03-14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-03-14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-16 01:22:52</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>577</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/30040287</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/bluejayblueskies/pseuds/bluejayblueskies</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>“You came back,” they say, surprised. </p>
<p>"Yes, well, I- I, er.” Martin holds up the wicker basket, feeling a bit silly as he does so. Do wood nymphs even eat human food?</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>TMA Fantasy Week [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/2208423</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>6</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>122</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>sweet as plums</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>written for tma fantasy week for prompt 2: twilight, forest</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The sun has just dipped below the horizon, bathing the world in oranges and yellows and muted blues, when Martin spots motion amongst the cedar trees. His grip on the wicker basket tightens, but he doesn’t move, doesn’t look away—just watches as, slowly, the shadow between the tree trunks resolves into a person, shorter than Martin and with long, grey-streaked hair tucked up into an intricate braid that’s threaded through with delicate yellow and white wildflowers.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>They regard Martin with a curiosity intense enough that Martin squirms underneath their gaze. “You came back,” they say, surprised. Within their voice, Martin can hear the rustle of leaves in the wind and the chittering of squirrels and the creaking of trees expanding in the cold. “I… did not expect you to.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Yes, well, I- I, er.” Martin holds up the wicker basket, feeling a bit silly as he does so. Do wood nymphs even eat human food? Maybe Martin should have brought flowers or bark or- or something. “I- I brought food? Er, bread and- and some cheese and fruit—I didn’t know what kind you would like so I, uh, I brought them all. I- I thought we could maybe sit and eat them together?” Martin’s face is burning up, and he finishes weakly, “I’d- I’d like to get to know you better.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>They tilt their head slightly, but after a moment a small smile curls across their lips. “What kind of fruit?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>They sit together at the edge of the forest, and the nymph—whose name, Martin discovers after he finally works up the nerve to ask, is Jon—picks through the contents of the basket with obvious fascination. They pick up a plum, turning it over in their hands and taking a small bite from it that stains their teeth purple, before setting it aside and pulling out a loaf of bread and then a block of cheese, nibbling on both before setting them aside as well. Finally, their curiosity apparently sated, they look at Martin and say, “Which do you prefer?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Oh!” Martin worries his bottom lip between his teeth for a moment before saying, “I’m- I’m rather fond of the bread. It’s even better fresh, when it’s still hot.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I see,” Jon says, and the sincerity in their voice releases some of the nervous tension in Martin’s hands and shoulders. They take the bread in hand again and turn it over, like they’re searching for a deeper meaning in the speckles of grain and the cracked crust. Softly, they say, “Perhaps… perhaps you could show me sometime? I- I can’t stray from the forest for long, but a few hours would be manageable.” They hesitate before adding quickly, “Only- only if you want to, of course. I know that I am… not inconspicuous company.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Martin thinks about Jon accompanying him to the shops—looking at the clay pottery and blown glass and delicate wood carvings, settling down in the library amongst dusty pages and inked-on letters, arriving at the bakery early so as to have the best pick of the day’s bread. The thought makes something warm curl in the pit of his stomach, and he gives Jon a shy smile. “Yeah. I’d like that.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The smile Jon gives him in return is like sunlight filtered through the leaves of the trees and reflected off the gentle water that collects between the roots, refracted by the early morning mist into an iridescent rainbow.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>comments and kudos make my day! if you liked what you read, let me know 💛</p>
<p>find me on tumblr <a href="https://bluejayblueskies.tumblr.com/">@bluejayblueskies</a></p></blockquote></div></div>
</body>
</html>